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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124048">Pixie Dust Can't Save This Sinking Ship</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensen_57/pseuds/jensen_57'>jensen_57</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensen_57/pseuds/jensen_57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil, ever the dreamer he was in his childhood, begged for the day he'd be swept off to Neverland. Who knew he'd be the one taking all those other kids who wished the same. On the run from either the police or his father's free men--whoever gets him first--he layers on another disguise every day before walking those endless tunnels and bringing a smile to another Lost Boy's face.<br/>(aka au in which the foxes work as disney. not a single person asked for this but here we are.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day/Thea Muldani, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten &amp; Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten &amp; The Foxes (All For The Game), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pixie Dust Can't Save This Sinking Ship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A preface: this is so far from what any of aftg stands for but i had an idea and my brain said fuck you. so, welcome to the au nobody asked for. also, the best i could do for research was a lot of youtube videos and a fuckton of articles so accuracy is not a main priority but you get the gist. i also have nobody to check this over and i try my best but apologies for typos and such (in my head, the characters looks will be changing to resemble the foxes rather than the other way around) (also yes kevin and thea, i just wanted to make her esmeralda, let me live)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Putting on another one of his many disguises, Neil couldn't help but live out a silly childhood fantasy. Growing up in the hellhole that was his home, one possession he held close was his DVD copy of Peter Pan. He tucked it safely under his mattress and stuck it into the small TV in the corner of his room whenever he needed to be out of his father's way. That was more often than not.  </p><p>At the age of seventeen (typical, right?), his father, The Butcher of Baltimore, and his little hierarchy he so graciously ruled fell out from under him in one fell swoop. He still remembered his mother dialing the phone in her trembling, bloody hand as she slammed his door behind her. She practically threw him out the two-story window, kissing his forehead once more before his calves hit the sill, and he went tumbling out. Only once was he grateful for his father's frivolous spending; his back hit the glistening, moon-reflecting water of the pool, the only thing silencing the gunshot that sent a sheen of blood over the rippling surface.</p><p>After that, he, respectively, hauled ass until he was safe but shivering at the end of the property line. It was his emergency point of contact, as described by his mother all those years ago. In a shitty little treehouse left from some forgotten history, there was a duffle bag. One was maroon, the other a slate blue. He took both and ran. </p><p>There was a target on his back bigger than the underground pathway he was jogging through. Seven names and six years later, he was settled. The hubbub had died down, and he looked much different than before. He was allowed to each enough every day that his bones no longer protruded from every joint and corner of his skin. </p><p>"Morning, Neil!" Allison chimed, passing by him while tinkering with one of the sparkles on her billowing blue dress. He cast her a wave before continuing on. If he was correct, Renee should've been at his side ten minutes ago, brown wig and blue dress on.</p><p>Though, when they almost crashed into each other, blonde bangs were still fluttering over her forehead. She gave him the best smile she could, guilt clearly hidden underneath it.</p><p>"We have an M and G in seven minutes! What are you doing?!"</p><p>"I know! I know, trust me," she said, nodding to the door at her right as she pulled off the wig with careful precision. He followed her, an aide taking the wig and a semi-familiar dresser setting the 'Wendy' wig in place and touching up the spaces she needed to. </p><p>"Five minutes," he said impatiently as she slid out of the chair, looking fresh as ever without a drop of sweat. How? Make-up was truly the only magical thing in the whole park, but that was concerning.</p><p>"Oh, get the stick out of your ass, Petey-boy," sniped a voice from behind him. The snark in their tone had the sharp wit of his tongue begging to make an appearance, but he shoved it back down before turning around. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Literally. Red overalls, oversized blue bow ties, and little yellow flags on little red hats. The whole shtick. </p><p>He knew from the first glance which one of them said it; a toothy sort of grin sent his way as Renee scoffed.</p><p>"Why don't you try it sometime? Maybe there won't be so much shit coming out of your mouth that way," he said. Apparently, he wasn't as good at restraining himself as he had hoped. </p><p>"Neil, go!" Renee said, pushing his shoulder out the door before the twin could answer.</p><p>As they stumbled into the hallway, Renee shoved piles of fabric into his hands before they took off sprinting. </p><p>"D'you see the line?" she asked, skittering around a corner with a bright grin. He was pretty sure it was welded onto her face after so many years. </p><p>"Didn't get the chance," he said, practically tripping over himself as he pulled up extra pieces of ribbon. She pulled more and more from his arms as she tied it around her waist. They stopped into a drop-off for her Alice dress, which Neil was grateful to take off his sweaty hands. </p><p>When they stood two steps in front of the door, Neil carefully hiding the knot in the ribbon of her dress, one of the gate-openers gave them a questioning thumbs-up. They returned it to her before she pushed the door open. The floodgates were officially open. </p><p>Who knew kids could still be so energetic at ten in the morning that he was surprised he didn't go deaf from their shrieks. Of course, he liked the company of children. He was glad he could make them smile. But, listening to them yelling at their parents and getting scolded right back never sat well with him. The muggy Florida heat did nothing to help, more and more touchy guests coming in habitually with the rising sun. </p><p>Hours later, far after the sun had set, he made it home. Sweat was slicked up his back, the make-up on his face mostly washed away. It was unlikely for him to ever stop running to and from work. However, sometimes, as he stepped into the warm shower, he honestly had to reevaluate his priorities. </p><p>The water pressure in his new place sucked ass, but he couldn't complain. It was cheap, especially for being as close to the parks as it was, but there were quite a few lacking areas. He didn't mind the cracks running along the walls or the electricity that seemed to cut out twice a day minimum, or even the rowdy neighbors that shouted all hours of the night. It was his home. Permanently.</p><p>Like most nights, he walked over to the cupboard, finding an almost empty bag of popcorn, held closed with a binder clip. Making the chicken in the freezer seemed like far too much work, so he grabbed the bag and plopped down on the couch. Stale, but edible. </p><p>He managed to score the place with the promise of the first three month's rent. It wasn't easy, but it was the most effortless thing he had done compared to most other things in his life. Getting through school was a bitch without any history for them to check. If it wasn't suspicious as hell, it would've been nice, but he had to pull together a fake file to give them in 24 hours. Not anywhere near an easy feat. The one other thing that wasn't near impossible was standing in a line of twenty different guys, waiting to see who they picked to be Peter's actor. If it wasn't for his build, he would've been screwed. When they got him into the official role, they realized they made the right decision. Little did they know where his mimicking abilities stemmed from.</p><p>Though his mother left him with a lot of money, more than most could scrape together in a year, moving in and out of the country made a dent. He definitely wasn't daft with his spending, but eating at work wasn't quite as cheap as it should've been. Changing in and out of costume wasn't the struggle; finding something decently healthy that didn't cost his entire wallet was.</p><p>He managed, though. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn't need more, and he would always settle for less. He was nothing but a fleeting figure. Now, though, hopefully, it would change. He never minded being a shadow. Sooner or later, he knew he'd have to give up his fantasy, but he'd hold onto it as long as he could. People were after him. They had been for years. It was a comfortable sort of feeling by then. It was routine. He needed routine.</p><p>Part of that routine included sitting on the couch, catching up with local news and other happenings worldwide. Where was the best place to run off to if need be? He pretended it was just curiosity, but it couldn't hurt documenting those things onto sheets of notebook paper tucked in the binder full of cash sitting in the safe in his closet. He checked it every night before slipping into bed, along with feeling the gun under his pillow. It was in the instructions on the first page. </p><p>Everything else he was doing was against the instructions, but his mother would get over it. Probably rolling in her grave for a few years first, but she would. </p><p>In the meantime, though, he stripped down to a t-shirt and boxer-briefs. Out of a foolish habit, he unlocked the window, just in case. The light flickered off under the tap of his finger against the switch, and he climbed into bed. Tomorrow was another scorching day in the sun, but it brought a grin to his face.</p>
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